The skiff shuddered, its thrusters whining a weary song as Davit struggled to coax more altitude from the battered vessel. Below, the jungle isle receded, a patch of emerald velvet against the vast, swirling clouds of Svaneti Ze. Liaza clutched the co-pilot’s seat, her knuckles white, her gaze fixed on the expanse of sky ahead. The memory of her own power, raw and destructive, still throbbed in her palms, a phantom ache that made her want to pull her hands away from her own body. The warmth that had surged through her, a desperate shield for Davit, now felt like a curse, a stain on her spirit.
“We’re clear for now,” Davit rasped, his voice rough. He slumped against the seatback, a grimace distorting his features. His left hand, wrapped in strips of torn fabric from his uniform, rested awkwardly against the throttle. The bandages were already stained a dark, blossoming crimson. Her power had burned him, even as it had saved him.
Liaza looked at him, then quickly away, her throat tight. “Your hand,” she managed, the words barely a breath. “It’s… because of me.”
He shifted, his eyes, usually sharp and commanding, now softened with fatigue. “It was a necessary risk. You were… magnificent.”
Magnificent. The word felt like an insult. She had shattered the earth, flung grown men like dolls. It contradicted all she had learned, shattering the patient discipline of a Weaver who guided threads with delicate precision. There was no precision in that raw burst of force, only terror.
“I’m not,” she said, her voice shaking. She finally turned to face him, her gaze meeting his, and the weariness in her own eyes was profound. “I’m a danger. To everyone. To you.” She looked at her hands, still trembling slightly, though the glow had faded. “I could have hurt you more. I could have… leveled the canopy.”
“But you didn’t,” Davit countered, his tone firm despite his obvious pain. He reached his uninjured right hand towards her, hesitating for a moment before letting it fall back to his lap. The gesture was a small, telling thing, a restraint she hadn't expected. “You used it to defend. To create a path out. You used it for *us*.”
“I don’t know what I used it for,” she confessed, a sob catching in her throat. “It just… erupted. Like a sickness inside me. This isn't fate-weaving, Davit. This is… unmaking.”
The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the persistent hum of the skiff’s engines. Liaza stared out at the passing clouds, feeling a vast, empty space open up inside her. Her goal, once so clear—a normal, peaceful life—now seemed like a child’s dream, shattered by the horrific reality of what she carried within her. How could she ever return to her quiet life, knowing such destructive potential resided in her? And how could she inflict that risk on anyone else, especially Davit, who had already sacrificed so much for her?
“I understand the fear,” Davit said, his voice softer than she had ever heard it. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes for a moment. “My family, House Dadiani… we are known for our Gifts. The rare few who can command the sky currents, or whisper to the crystalline spires. My older brother, Ervin, can shape the wind itself into a solid shield. My sister, Tekla, can hear the subtle song of the Earth’s core. They are lauded, celebrated, destined for greatness.”
Liaza turned to him, surprised by the sudden intimacy of his confession. He rarely spoke of himself, always focused on the mission, on her. She waited, watching a tendon jump along his neck.
“Me?” he continued, opening his eyes, a glint of something raw and vulnerable in their depths. “I have no Gift. None. My hands are just… hands. My mind, just a mind. I train harder than any of them. I study more. I push myself to the brink. But I was always… ordinary.” He let out a short, mirthless laugh. “A disappointment. A stain on the House’s legacy. So, I sought power elsewhere. In authority. In influence. In command.”
Liaza listened, a quiet understanding dawning in her. The cold, ambitious Davit she had first met, the one who had shattered Keto’s staff and demanded obedience, now made a terrible, tragic sense. His ruthless pursuit of the Guli Kamara, his willingness to align with the Ch'rdili Conclave, it wasn't just for Svaneti Ze. It was for himself, a desperate attempt to prove his worth.
“I believed,” he went on, his gaze now locked onto hers, “that if I could secure something as vital as the Guli Kamara, master such a force, then I would finally be… worthy. I would be more than just Davit, the Gift-less Dadiani scion.” He paused, his gaze dropping to her glowing hands, then back to her eyes. “But watching you today… seeing that raw power erupt from you, not for ambition, not for dominance, but for simple defense, for *life*… it made my own ambitions feel hollow. Like a child’s toy, meaningless in the face of true strength.”
He slowly reached out his uninjured hand again, this time not stopping. His fingers, calloused and firm, brushed against her cheek, leaving her skin prickling with heat that owed nothing to magic and belonged entirely to him. His thumb stroked softly, his gaze holding hers, intense and searching. The air in the cramped cockpit tightened, heavy with silent admissions and the sudden quiet between them.
He leaned closer, his eyes dark, his breath warm on her face. She drew a shallow, ragged inhalation. The scent of ozone and something uniquely Davit – clean, with a hint of steel – filled her senses. She could see the tiny flecks of amber in his pupils, the faint scar above his brow. She felt a desperate urge to close the distance, to lean into his touch, to find a moment of peace and understanding in the chaos. Her heart thrummed a strange, erratic beat.
Just as their lips were about to meet, a sudden, sharp chirp broke the spell. It was high-pitched, insistent, startling them both. Liaza gasped, pulling back slightly as Davit recoiled, his hand dropping from her face. They both looked towards the source of the sound. The small, intricately carved wooden bird Keto had given her, tucked into a pouch at her waist, was vibrating. Its polished surface gleamed, and with another series of chirps, its tiny, segmented wings unfolded, stretching wider than seemed possible. A soft, inner light began to emanate from its chest, growing brighter, until it projected a shimmering, three-dimensional star-chart onto the skiff’s dusty control panel. A single, luminous point pulsed steadily, drawing their attention to a location long thought to exist only in forgotten tales: the Weavers’ Spire, a ruin, now clearly marked, beckoning them through the vast, uncharted skies.